Inbar Boyum Life Story Inbar, the eldest son of Gil and Ayelet, was born on December 4, 2000 in Be’eri. He was a fair-haired baby, and the color of his hair suggested his name (“Inbar ” is “Amber” in Hebrew). But it wasn't only Inbar’s hair that was yellow. He was born with severe jaundice. It was a week before Ayelet and Inbar could leave the hospital for her parents' home in Sderot, where Inbar’s brit took place. Inbar's great-grandfather was the godfather. From the moment he was born, Inbar was engulfed in love. His father, Gil, used to take him for rides on the kibbutz tractors. He was the most sensitive child in the "Cocos" class; when a child in the kindergarten cried, Inbar would go up to the child and simply say, "I'm here with you." Up to the age of two and a half, Inbar ate everything, even zucchini. But as he grew up, he became a true carnivore. He loved steak. As a teenager, he enjoyed grilling tuna. He once did it on the roof of the house, and the whole family thought the house was on fire. That he was a bright boy was evident from an early age. He was intelligent and conscientious. He studied computers and physics, played soccer and practiced judo for years. Like Gil, Inbar loved music. His headphones seemed to be permanently on his head, even in class. He loved rap and black music, but also Ehud Banai. Inbar did a year of service at Kibbutz Magal. When he received an 82 Military Profile, he did what he could to raise it. He underwent surgery so that he wouldn’t have to wear glasses and began preliminary screenings to become a pilot, but his vision problems interfered. He decided to enlist in the Golani brigade, and after enlistment, he declared his intention to join a sayeret (special reconnaissance unit). The skinny boy became a medic in the Golani sayeret . To be the best, he would practice bandaging and other skills on his friends. From the moment he enlisted, he became a fitness freak. He would go to the gym in the base at two o'clock in the morning and also worked out on the kibbutz and in Sderot. The family was worried about his well-being and anxiously awaited his discharge. After his discharge, in April 2023, Inbar debated his next step and decided that he did not want to take on a job that required a long commitment. He was hired as a security guard at the EAPC (Europe Asia Pipeline Co) in Ashkelon. To be closer to work, he went to live with his grandmother, Simcha, in Sderot. The night before he was murdered, he sat with his mother and told her that he was contemplating studying medicine, but the seven years of schooling worried him. Ayelet told him that he would definitely succeed. Inbar was a big brother in every sense of the word, always protective and helpful. He would have heart-to-heart talks with his sister – about relationships, the army, and everything under the sun. When the four siblings were at home together, they liked to play games like Catan and Rummykub. They also loved going out, bowling and picnicking together. Ayelet called him "Mommy’s Prince." “The Royal Family" was the name of the family's WhatsApp group. He was always surrounded by friends – from the kibbutz, from the army. Inbar was handsome, a party man who loved get-togethers. He devoured life with gusto. Inbar had his first girlfriend already in third grade. He was a gentleman and charmed the ladies. He met his girlfriend Yuval about three months ago at "Hummus Shel Tahini" in Sderot, while meeting some guys he knew. The two discovered that they had the same tattoo, and from there sprouted a great love. It wasn’t long before he was considered a member of Yuval's family in Mabu’im. They started planning a trip to Thailand. Inbar loved tattoos. On his right hand he had the birth date of his late grandfather, Shimon, in Roman numerals. He also had tattoos of coconuts, for his kibbutz cohort (Cocos), an alien, spaceships, a paddle boarder, and also the icon of a rapper he loved. His aim was to add more and more. On October 7, 2023, after a 12-hour shift at work, Inbar was at Yuval's house. As soon as they heard what was happening in the area, Inbar told Yuval that he could not sit idly by and decided to go to EAPC, get weapons and return to defend his house in Be’eri. Yuval begged him to stay, but Inbar was determined and set off. At 7:34 am on Route 34 – almost the same moment his father Gil died – Inbar's phone died. In the words of David Grossman: "His gaze had just opened / but began to bloom. / It had just been given to me and immediately withdrawn ." On his finger, Inbar wore, as always, the black ring of his and his comrades in the commando unit. May his memory be a blessing. Back 04.12.2000 - 07.10.2023 22 years old

Yoram Bar Sinai Life Story Yoram Bar Sinai was the son of Avraham Borisonik and Miriam Eckstein, of Kitat Dror , and a member of Kibbutz Be’eri. Yoram was born in July of 1948, at the height of the War of Independence. The young kibbutz was built on a patch of land in the northern Negev, just a stone's throw from Gaza, on the "Eve of Eleven Points" – Yom Kippur, 1946. At that time, there were only men and single women. The married women and the children, among them Miriam and Yoram’s older brother Udi, remained in the training camp in Gedera. Due to unusual circumstances, Miriam, already in the advanced stages of pregnancy, had to go down to the Negev to relieve the medic. When she felt her first labor pains, she was taken by command car to Rehovot. The driver dropped her off at the beginning of the path to the hospital, and by the time Miriam reached the ward, Yoram had practically wriggled himself out. Yoram was taken directly to the children's house, where children slept apart from their parents, but together with their peers; he and Meira even shared a crib. In 1951, the kibbutz became a permanent settlement. The women and children were transported from Gedera to the kibbutz by trucks, together with the iron bed frames and the straw mattresses. The young parents lived in tents, along with an additional "friend" (the kerosine lamp known as a “primus”). The children lived in one of the two remaining abandoned houses and witnessed the kibbutz’s first – and last – snowfall. One night, Fedayun (a group of Palestinian militants) snuck in from Gaza and stole all the coats. While communal education was difficult for his mother, Yoram thrived. He was a very sociable child, trusting the world, content with his lot. He liked to wander through the fields, walking on his hands, running and jumping; he was always curious. Rivka’le, his preschool teacher, enchanted him with her stories. Like all kibbutz children, Yoram participated in every aspect of farm life: calving in the cowshed, working the fields, picking fruit in the orchards. His father, an amateur astronomer, taught him the names of constellations and their paths in the sky. At his grandparents’ home in Nesher, he saw his first synagogue and restaurant, and his three siblings provided abundant opportunities for lively clashes. Kitat Dror was the young kibbutz’s third class. The majority of the students were from the kibbutz, with an ever-changing contingent of "yaldei hutz " who lived on the kibbutz, but whose parents lived elsewhere. Yoram was a good student and a well-behaved child. He learned from his house-mother, Hasya, how to wash floors (making sure not to overlook the corners) and mastered all thirteen pre-Bar Mitzvah tasks (including learning how to sew a button). Additionally, because he was skilled in calligraphy, he may have been the one who wrote the sign “We pledge our allegiance to the flag and to nothing else.” It was no surprise that he would take the youth movement’s leadership course. The friends he made there remained with him throughout his army service and his entire life. He loved working in all the different branches, and learned a little of everything: carpentry, plumbing, welding, auto mechanics, and milking cows. Like all the kibbutzniks of his day, he finished school with an abysmal knowledge of the multiplication table but a deep familiarity with all three volumes of The History of the Labor Movement. In between all his other activities, he learned to play the mandolin and guitar, took drawing lessons, grew a glorious pompadour, and knew how to park a tractor and trailer in reverse. During his third year of community service, he was a counselor in a branch of the youth the movement, HaNoar HaOved in Holon; from there he went on to the army. To his delight, he was drafted into the Seventh Brigade. He loved the jeeps, the terrain, the cheerful vibe in his squadron. He did his part, drawing caricatures of all his friends and of the commander, Shlomo Baum, who had come from the legendary Unit 101. His comrades relied on his innate navigation skills, the campfires he built, and the coffee he prepared at every opportunity. And then there were the chocolate "snakes" his mother Miriam would send from the kibbutz. At the conclusion of his military service, Yoram returned to the kibbutz and relieved Omri in overseeing the orchards. He learned to remove caterpillars from the apricot trees, to thin out peach blossoms, and to organize groups to pick fruit. He was tanner and handsomer than ever. This was when he met Nili, his future wife. They were both guests at friend Ariel’s wedding, he from the groom’s side, she from the bride’s. When she saw him walking across from her, rejoicing at the prospect of seeing his friends, she couldn’t resist the temptation and stopped him. Asking him to show her his hands, she said, “If you don’t have a ring, I want to marry you.” He was naïve and didn’t realize she was serious. Meanwhile, Yoram began studying in a preparatory program for the Technion. When the Yom Kippur War broke out, he was called in for reserve duty. He spent eight months in the sand dunes of Tasa, while Uziel helped prepare him for the entrance exams in architecture. He was surprised, and pleased when he was accepted. During his five years of study, he married Nili, and had two children, Michael and Ruthie. Every two weeks he returned home to his family, working a Shabbat shift in the cowshed, organizing meetings, working in the orchard, and assembling groups to work in the cottonfields. When they returned to the kibbutz, his wife gave him an ultimatum: either they did away with communal sleeping arrangements for the children, or they moved back to Haifa. Yoram understood what this entailed but agreed to broach the topic anyway. He facilitated discussions, attempted to convince the old-timers, participated in local politics, examined the economic feasibility, negotiated with the movement – whatever was necessary. By the end of the year, the decision was ratified: they would make the change. The conditions were agreed upon: an extra room would be built for every house, the transition would take place in a single day, and the public services would be at a higher level than the private houses. And so it was. Yochai was three years old when he left Ofarim; Noa was born into sleeping at home. Yoram planned the expansion of the houses. He was also asked to help out with building, as everyone who came back from studying had to serve the kibbutz for a year. He poured cement, learned from Brandy how to supervise the execution of architectural plans, and led the Dagan class. At the end of the year, he was told that the teacher of the Kitat Haruvi had left, and so he, Yoram, would have to take his place. Architecture would wait another year. Finally, he began his work in the planning department, studying under Vittorio Corilandi. He loved sketching houses and trees with B6 pencils, drawing maps with special markers, and studying his impressive set of rapidograph pens, back when they still erased ink from parchment paper with an exact-o knife. Eventually, he specialized in planning settlements. He had a comprehensive understanding of the rules of planning and construction, mastered the politics of the local and national planning committees, and assisted many kibbutzim through the exhausting process of getting their building plans approved. His expertise in planning agricultural settlements brought him to Africa. His favorite project was Elda Nova, a village in Angola where people wanted to build an agricultural cooperative for soldiers released from both sides of the civil war. Not far from there, he also planned and built a neighborhood for wealthy expatriates who had returned home. There were other projects, and dreams of projects, in a range of places – from Senegal to China – but the house he loved most was Kibbutz Be’eri’s print shop. He was particularly excited by the ability to build The Calanit Site – the new division of credit cards – that was carried out according to the highest international standards. And all within one hundred days. In his personal life, Yoram was a beloved space cadet. Most people forgave his chronic lateness and absent-mindedness. They loved his intelligence, his gentleness, his equanimity, and his remarkable ability not to fight with anyone, ever. He simply refused to get drawn into any power struggles or hidden agendas. He was a decent man, the kind of kibbutznik proponents of cooperative education envisioned: a hard-working, cooperative man with a socialist and politically-aware conscience – and at the same time, a creative individual. “The grandfather who can do anything,” he liked to say when people asked him to repair something. On Shabbat morning, when he realized that the terrorists had infiltrated the kibbutz, Yoram took the automatic pistol he’d received from his grandfather Yehoshua, got on his bicycle, and rode to Ruthie’s house halfway across the kibbutz. He went out to her porch, chose a good lookout point on the stairs, and stood there with his coffee in one hand and his gun in the other. He was killed while trying to prevent seven terrorists from forcing their way into his daughter and grandchildren’s home. He was seventy-five years old. This is how we will remember him: The story of the Tree Project is best told by the trees themselves. Some of them ten years old, the tallest of them are those that were planted at the edges of the rows of jojoba trees, allowing them to be attached to the nozzles of the irrigation pipes. They were initially supported by wooden stakes, and marked in a different color every year. He checked on them whenever he rode his bicycle, and once every two or three weeks he would go with his golf cart and his blue barrels of water, the electric saw he’d recently purchased, and his top-of-the-line pruning shears. He tended to every tree until it was a head taller than him; then he took it out for financial independence. Eventually, Dan and the grandchildren joined the project, along with members of his kibbutz and his unit. May he rest in peace among the carob-tree plot that he planted, at the fork between the road leading up to Nahabir and Derekh Habitzurim. Back 25.07.1948 - 07.10.2023 75 years old

Eviatar (Tari) Kipnis Life Story Tari was born on February 24, 1958, in Kibbutz Ma’agan Michael. His father, Doron (Donny) Kipnis, was a native of Tel Aviv who came with the Israeli Scouts to Ma'agan Michael to establish the kibbutz. His mother, Ofra, immigrated to Israel from Tunisia. He was a brother to Avner (Kippi), who is eleven years older than him, to Guy, who is five years older than him, and Zefra, who is a year and a half younger than him. Tari grew up in the old-fashioned communal children's house and could easily connect with people. He would call out to the guard of the children’s home in the wee hours of the night: “Hey sleepy heads, come play with me, blow up a balloon for me.” Even if they were tired, the guards couldn’t say no to him. So they would get up to spend time with him. Tari had a lazy eye, which made him stand out. From the age of three, he alternated between wearing glasses and an eye patch. He was remembered as someone who walked around the kibbutz with his head always tilted slightly up, as if he were trying to read the world. As a very active child, he didn’t care much for formal studies at school, but he absolutely loved the sea. The older he got, the more that love grew. As for that eye, it must have been the only lazy part of his body. After all, Tari was always busy and knew how to do almost anything with his talented hands. The strong handshake, which was his trademark, attested to that fact. As a boy, when the sea was the center of his world, he was an initiator and a guide, bringing excitement and life to any event, no matter what setting: camps, cruises, training, rowing, and diving. At the same time, Tari worked in various branches of agriculture. He was always loved by children and was naturally accepted as a leader. He always endorsed peace and reconciliation, avoiding quarrels, disputes, and harm. Upon his enlistment in the IDF, he was assigned to the Armored Corps, but he persisted, as only Tari knew how to persist, until he joined the Navy. From there he fulfilled his dream: becoming a naval officer. Tari arrived at the long-awaited naval officer course with his “brother” from the kibbutz, the late Oren Linder, who was a charismatic leader himself. All the way from Ma’agan Michael to that course, Oren and Tari were born, grew up, dreamed, and fulfilled their dream together. Tari had a quiet, introverted leadership style. He would be the first one under the stretcher, without question, always true to the task. He was the one you could trust, and with whom any task could be executed successfully. Tari turned out to be a real sailor, as well as a professional in anything he did, such as being a skipper, kayaker, and diver. The sea surely carries many of Tari's secrets, but there was that one night, which none of his teammates could forget, when two weapons sank into the middle of the sea and Tari did not give up until he managed to find them. Along with those weapons, which he drew out of the sea, Tari also acquired the honor of finishing with the 19th class of naval officers. From there, he went on to study goldsmithing at Bezalel which, at first, he did not choose, but eventually he embraced this field as if it was his decision. He took much pride in his thesis: a series of kitchen knives that garnered him much praise, even from Chef Israel Aharoni, who used them until their last sharpening and then asked for more. The sea was also Tari's groomsman: on one of the many voyages he went on, after his release from the army, he met Lilach, and they fell in love. They built their shared home in 1993 on Kibbutz Be’eri. Their two sons were born there: Yotam and Nadav. Tari transitioned from goldsmithing to repairing old watches, becoming the person to turn to for anyone who had something in their possession that required special or painstaking repair. He later worked at the kibbutz printing house, leading the implementation of the most up-to-date equipment which contributed to perfecting the work flows and capabilities of the printing house. After completing his master's degree in sustainability at the University of Haifa, he dedicated himself to environmental issues, as part of his role as a "community manager" — first in Be’eri, then in Kfar Azza as well as in Kibbutz Zikim. He was deeply enthusiastic and curious, always wanting to explore and learn more and more. He expected the same from his boys, Yotam and Nadav, whom he sometimes challenged with character-building questions, trying to find what interests them, and also encouraging them to find the answers on their own and in their own way. He had acquired vast knowledge on his own, which he shared generously. You could ask Tari any question on any subject and in any field. He was a walking encyclopedia, knowledgeable about the heavenly bodies, nature, and everything in between: When will the moon rise? How does a lock work? What did Darwin discover in the Galapagos? How do you know the speed of light? He was a man of principles, who knew how to stand up for his opinions and say them directly and sometimes with a lack of tact that could lead to embarrassment. Nevertheless, his integrity and natural curiosity along with his warmth and love aroused sympathy and many smiles. On the kibbutz, he was active in the Residential Emergency Team (“Tzachi”), and in various committees, such in the Growth & Development Committee, where he took on an important role supervising the donations to associations that he thought needed help. He volunteered at the "Pa'amonim" [Bells] NGO, becoming a coordinator who helped many people organize themselves and conduct their personal affairs in practical and financially responsible ways. Tari had no hobbies because whichever field he dove into, he became a professional: for example, after discovering a new interest in coffee, he quickly became an expert, who could identify varieties, types, growing and roasting methods and, of course, he planted two coffee trees near his home. The home that Tari and Lilach built was warm, open, and inviting. Friends from different periods of their lives came all year round, including, of course, the traditional winter gathering with the friends from the Navy and their families, when everyone would enjoy lying in Be’eri’s famous patches of red anemone flowers. People would come from around the country — including from the surrounding settlements, Rahat, the Bedouin settlements, and West Bank villages — to see those beautiful wild flowers. Majda, a resident of Hebron, was adopted by Tari and Lilach into their circle and, under her leadership, they organized workshops for making stuffed vine leaves, satisfying all of the residents of Be’eri. Tari was a man of peace, who believed in sharing life: he once donated a special treatment bed to a hospital in Gaza. He was an atheist, abiding by a religion of respect, doing, and giving to others. His heart was open to everyone. In the last eight years, he suffered from an autoimmune disease. Despite his physical weakness, Tari connected with the strength of the soul within him. His characteristic handshake did not weaken, though his spirit was diminishing. Tari did not give up on his dreams and even managed to go as part of a research expedition to Antarctica. Even when the help of his devoted caregiver Paul was needed, Tari continued to volunteer as a guide for a group of at-risk youth, and went out to sea with them in kayaks. At the same time, he insisted on continuing to help with bicycle repairs at the local shop and, when people would come to the south to see the wildflowers, he would help the kibbutz youth run a hummus stand. He loved children and children loved him. Members of his extended family, especially the youngest ones, were drawn to him like a magic wand. They sat on his lap, hoping to receive his attention, which he shared generously. Tari also found his way back to art. He set up a studio in his home, where he painted beautiful images of nature, animals, and people. Most of these paintings survived the fire. In the last months before his murder, he watched classic movies with his family, and spent quality time in their company as they recalled past experiences. About a month before the attack, he sailed with Lilach and his sisters on a cruise through the French canals. They returned from that trip exactly a week before his murder. During the trip, Tari was grateful to the people around him for what was given to him, especially for the joy of being together. He appreciated every glass of wine, every song, conversation, and meeting. Tari was happy about the quality time he spent with his loved ones. Tari hoped to find a cure for his disease and continue with his plans. He was dedicated to his recovery, working every day to get stronger. But it was not the disease that conquered Tari. After long, difficult, and nerve-wracking days of uncertainty, Tari's body was identified. The body of Paul, the devoted caregiver who lived with Tari and Lilach, was found days earlier. As these lines are written, Tari's love, Lilach, is still missing and classified as a hostage. His friend from the naval officer course, Danny Goldbaum, wrote: "Eviatar Kipnis was a sailor, skipper, professional, man of learning, smart, loving husband, family man, volunteer, strong man, diver, kayaker, coffee lover, with many hobbies, and beloved." May his memory be a blessing. Back 24.02.1958 - 07.10.2023 65 years old

Ofra Keidar Life Story Ofra was born to Penina and Dovale Gitel, Ofra was their middle child, a sister to Hana and Ilan. Her parents were among the original members of Kibbutz Kedma, which is where Ofra grew up in the first years of her life. In 1962, when Kibbutz Kedma disbanded, the family joined a group of friends and together they moved to Be'eri. In their honor, Be'eri veterans gave up their new duplexes. Dovale and Penina received a room on the second floor above the Efrat family. They arrived during summer vacation. Ofra, Hadas, and Ada, who were finishing third grade, joined “Kitat Shibolim”. Ofra had a hard time coming to terms with the move, especially with being separated from her best friend, who had moved to another kibbutz. It took a long time before Ofra began to feel at home and join the local community of youngsters. She proved to be very athletic, especially excelling in any games that used balls. In dodgeball, her delivery was exceptionally strong and accurate, and the children of Shibolim learned to be careful when Ofra played. They would even warn her not to hurt their stomachs! She was a good girl who took every project seriously. She participated in the customary class plays that regularly took place as a part of the local education, and even then, she showed a rare responsibility and diligence among the youth. As a girl, her big dream was to skydive, so she volunteered to be a parachute folder for the paratroopers. She did this with characteristic precision and efficiency, and also got to parachute from a plane several times. As many Israelis did after the army, as a third year of service she went to help at the newly established Kibbutz Elrom. There she met Sammy. After one year of courtship, the young couple moved to Tel Aviv. Before another year passed, Ofra informed Sammy that they were going to return to Kibbutz Be’eri. There, Ofra started working in the dairy, and Sammy joined the blacksmith shop. Their wedding was held in the spirit of those days. It was a kibbutz style wedding of 5 couples together. Their son Elad was born in 1978, followed by Oran and Yael. Despite her restraint from expressing physical affection, Ofra was a devoted mother. Her great loves were clear to anyone who visited her home: animals and agriculture. There were always dogs in the house. She mainly kept poodles which occasionally participated in dog shows. Ofra tended the garden and loved pots and flowers very much. She cherished beauty, making sure the house was comfortable and pleasant, and did not hesitate to buy things she liked. She didn't like to cook but she would make excellent pastries, without even needing to use recipes. She would always eat quickly because she needed to get back to doing something useful. Ofra worked in the dairy for about 30 consecutive years. She was responsible for taking care of the newborn calves and feeding them with milk. At first, she gave them colostrum and then she would prepare bottles of milk from powder. She had extraordinary physical strength and, like her father Dovale, she never asked for help. In general, her work embodied the qualities she inherited from Dovale and Penina; she was a quiet and efficient worker, who never uttered unnecessary words. She also exhibited diligence, accuracy, cleanliness, and order which were so basic to them that there would have been no need to mention them. Most importantly, she would never fuss about small matters. If there was a need to do something, it was done. She believed that everything either was fine or would be fine. This attitude helped her to move on. She was a working woman and an old-fashioned kibbutznik. When the dairy moved to the edge of the kibbutz, Ofra made a brief attempt to go back and forth with carts, but it was no longer the same. Ofra returned to her old love, working at the children's farm, a local little corner filled with life. She worked there for 15 years and, even when she reached retirement age, she never slowed down. She would do hard physical labor, managing every detail of the maintenance and operation of the farm. There was no task too large or too small for her to handle. She was responsible for ordering the food for the animals and, just like with the calves, she would come every Saturday morning to make sure that the shift workers arrived and that everything was in order. Always in a hurry to work, she was always practical, which led her to never be enthusiastic about taking time off to study, though she happily participated in field trips. Ofra eventually took in Shmil to work with her, promising him that she would stay with him until he retired. Shmil discovered that behind the faҫade of tough armor, she was like a mother to him. When the children grew up, Ofra established a regular routine: in the summer, she would leave at five in the morning in order to get to work on time; she would go to the pool a little before it opened to get the lane she liked and swim 60 laps; and then return to work. After her lunch break, she would watch tennis or NBA games on TV, solve crossword puzzles, or pick up the young grandchildren from kindergarten, and spend time with them in the playground, in the animal farm, or go out to the fields to watch the potatoes and carrots get picked. Always on foot, without a scooter, she felt like she always had to move so as not to be lazy. Her days sometimes included tennis and gymnastics classes, or a daily visit to the shopping mall, where she sometimes bought new sports clothes. On Fridays and Saturdays, she went on her traditional walk, alone or with friends, listening to radio 88FM with oldies from abroad (Ofra especially loved Elvis Presley and Paul Anka). She often laughed when telling people about changes in nature that no one except her noticed, for instance, a new family of foxes, or the sowing of chickpeas in a distant field. Her weekends were dedicated to her daughter Yael. After her morning walk and making a fruit salad, she went out again with Yael for a walk around the kibbutz. They sat leisurely to eat lunch, updating each other as they sat in the dining room. Those were her quiet family Shabbats. Ofra loved the blessed routine of her life: work, sports, music, garden, home, family, kibbutz. She stayed away from entertainment and travel, living life as it is, without unnecessary claims. Until her last Saturday. As usual, Ofra went for a walk at five in the morning. It was still dark outside, which didn’t bother her because there was nothing she would have thought to be afraid of. Near Nakhbir, in her favorite fields, she met terrorists. Yael waited at home and many hours passed before she was evacuated. It was only after two months that we learned of Ofra’s fate. She was 70 years-old at the time of the murder. May her memory be a blessing. Back 02.09.1953 - 07.10.2023 70 years old

Yona Cohen Life Story Three members of three generations of the Cohen family—grandmother, son, and granddaughter, Yona, Ohad, and Mila—each had different birthdays, but they all died on the same day, October 7, 2023. Yona was 73, her son Ohad 43, and his daughter Mila was a baby not yet a year old. Yona was born in Jerusalem, the second child of Sami and Rosa Levy, sister to her elder brother Jacques and her younger sister Varda. She grew up on Agrippas Street, where her parents ran the well-known Sami restaurant. Her parents worked long hours outside the home. Yona and her siblings learned to be independent at a young age. In her childhood, she told her children, she was so thin that the wind would send her flying as she walked up Agrippas Street to school. Her family later moved to Tel Aviv, where Yona attended the Alliance Française school. She was a quiet girl and a hardworking and diligent student who loved to read. As a teenage athlete - she related - she could run as fast as her classmate, the future Israeli champion and Olympic sprinter Esther Shahamorov. After graduation, she enlisted in the Nahal Corps and, along with her high-school boyfriend, David, joined the “gar'in,” (the nucleus) - the collective of soldier-pioneers who founded Be’eri. They were married after completing their military service. The young couple began their life together in Petah Tikva, where their three sons were born—Itay, Ido, and Ohad. The members of the Be’eri gar'in refused to give up on Yona and David and entreated them to return. They did, in 1982. Ohad, the youngest son, found it difficult to get used to sleeping in the children’s house, and often ran away to his parents’ home at night. Yona considered leaving, but the family was swathed in the love of their old and new friends. It was that love that tipped the scale in favor of the kibbutz. The birth of their daughter Danielle, and the addition of Ro’i, for whom the Cohens became an adopted family after he arrived at Be’eri as a member of a youth movement detachment, expanded the family. There were now five children, four boys and a girl. The home was joyful and warm. Yona showered the family with Ladino endearments and was renowned for her skill as a cook and baker. Yona loved kibbutz life and the kibbutz loved her. She was a natural of the old school in her work with children, forming strong and loving ties with her charges that endured for years into their adulthood. For ten years, she and her good friend Hezi ran Be’eri’s procurements and disbursements of food and supplies, ending her term as radiant and beloved as on the day she began. Her next position was as a kibbutz bookkeeper. She loved the work and the people she worked with, and stayed on the job even after she retired, up to her final day. Yona was goodhearted and loved life, and had a broad and jubilant smile. She knew how to make everyone around her happy. Israeli and Greek music were a special passion; she and her brother Jacques liked to go to tavernas together. But more than anything else she enjoyed reading new books, getting up in the morning for a walk or a gym workout, going to plays and films, spending time with friends, and to travel around the world. She made frequent visits to her grandchildren and children overseas—Ido’s family: Ellen, Zoë, Anuk, and Eden; and Itay’s family: Keren, Ariel, and Eleni; and to her youngest, her daughter Danielle and Amir. And, of course, there were Ohad and Sandra, who lived on the kibbutz with their children Liam, Dylan, and little Mila, whom she saw almost every day. Yona valued family togetherness and was good at fostering it. Yona’s story is the story of the kibbutz. She never left when it was under attack. “If I die,” she told her worried family, “it will be here at home and not anywhere else.” With an optimism that now seems frighteningly naïve, she added: “And what can happen to us, really?” May her memory be blessed. Prayer - Avraham Chalfi I don’t know the words from which prayer is born. All words are lost to my voice, have become a mute darkness. But my eyes still see the spark in the eyes of a child, and my eyes still see: A star of unmatched brilliance, and worried-faced mothers steering their small ones to the light. What will be with them? What will be? Listen to their breathing joy in the spring, which seems as if it will never end. I will bow before the role of God even if he has vanished from my eyes. Do no wrong to the innocent, they do not know why lightning strikes a fruit-bearing tree. Do no wrong to the innocent. They do not know why man desecrates his image. I don’t know the words from which prayer is born. All words are lost to my voice, have become a mute darkness. Back 18.01.1950 - 07.10.2023 73 years old

Rotem Calderon Life Story Rotem Calderon was born on October 14, 1956, in Kibbutz Be'eri to Leah Lili Leicha née Elazar, who immigrated to Israel from Bulgaria, and Michael Goodrich - later Gadish – who immigrated to Israel from England. Her mother was both a farmer and a seamstress, and her father taught physical education. Leah never got to know her older brother Ilan, who died from an illness at the age of six. Yet Leah maintained a close, loving relationship with her two older brothers Yuval and Raviv for her entire life. From childhood, Rotem knew how to be both the little sister who never hesitated to take on the role of the big one when needed, as well as knowing how to fill the house with free-flowing, fun, bubbling, contagious laughter. Rotem grew up in the "Gefen '' group on the kibbutz. A sports-lover and a swimmer, Rotem was very popular in the Gefen’s group of nine girls, and some remained close friends for life. Rotem served in the Israeli Army in Sharm al Sheikh. When she returned to the kibbutz, she met the man who would become the father of her children, Moshe"Caldi" Calderon. This meeting has a mythological version: Caldi, a charismatic young man, arrives at the kibbutz with his cohorts from Bat Yam, spots the beautiful girl from the kibbutz in a checkered flannel shirt with long hair down to her buttocks, and declares, “This shirt will be mine.” And Rotem, in true form, confidently follows her heart, opting to share her life with the distinctive, talented city boy leading the way. Soon after they wed, their oldest son Adam was born, followed by Omer’s arrival two-and-a-half years later. Even as a young mother with two toddlers, Rotem managed to advance her career by studying Physical Education far from home in Seminar Hakibbutzim in Tel Aviv, returning to Be'eri only on weekends for a long period. Upon completing her studies, Rotem worked as a well-loved teacher at the Ma’ale Basor High School where Caldi also taught. At the birth of their daughter Mika, Rotem nurtured her small, close-knit family, a lioness of a mother who spoke of her children with sparkling eyes and boundless love. In 2005, tragedy struck: Caldi was killed in a motorcycle accident, at the age of just 49. The kibbutz members enveloped Rotem with support during her deep mourning. Gradually, she mustered the strength to redirect her life to achieve another dream: to live for a time in the big city of Tel Aviv. Alone. Like the best of Tel Aviv’s young women, Rotem rented an apartment with a roommate and pored over want ads for job openings. At the start, she found a job as a clerk in a law firm, a position she left in favor of working in a neighborhood coffee shop and a clothing store in Neve Tzedek, jobs that brought her closer to the throbbing pulse of the city and its people. Two years later, when she returned to the kibbutz, Rotem became the preschool director before working in the kibbutz secretariat. At retirement, Rotem was drawn to volunteer at The Negev’s Sexual Assault and Domestic Violence Support Center, as well as the "No Soldier Left Behind” therapeutic rehabilitation community for PTSD victims in the Gaza vicinity. These two specific centers were ideal for Rotem’s unrivaled expertise: interpersonal communication. Rotem was the grandmaster of listening to others, able to not only look, but see. When you spoke to her, you felt you were the most important thing in the universe. And when she spoke, she always said what she thought. Apparently, this characteristic – her captivating honesty – helped so many to bare their hearts to her and to support her. Rotem was a passionate mother to Adam and Omer and Mika, a wondrous grandmother to Aviv, Gal and Bar, and a beloved and loving persona to Mika and Roi, her children's spouses. She was also a youthful 66-year-old woman who knew how to set out on life adventures that others could not imagine. Rotem was a people-person who also knew how to enjoy going to the movies alone. She was efficient, creative, productive -- the one to depend on to arrange great trips for her circle of friends. But Rotem also knew how to enjoy a walk, or just sit and talk with her children, or watch TV together in pajamas. She was an extremely sensitive person, yet also a rock of stability for so very many. When Adam and Mika, both creative cinema people, shared their wish to shoot a film on the kibbutz, Rotem recruited all her friends for the mission of transforming the kibbutz into a film location. As she turned her own home into the bustling production center, she did it as Rotem – with total ease. In her hands, this production looked like the most natural, simple task ever. Rotem was a champion of minimalism in life, with her heart as her guiding star to clearly direct the way. She was the friend you want at your side in crises and in joyous times, the grandmother who enjoyed giving parents a little break from the kids, and the grandmother to run to when your parents annoy you. She never pushed or became involved without being asked, but she was always there. All who needed her knew easily how to find her. Over the last three years, Rotem found new, beautiful love with Baruch, a native of Hatzor. Baruch’s children immediately fell in love with Rotem as well, quickly realizing her greatness. They also called her a lioness. On Saturday, October7, Rotem was alone at home. Although she spent most of her weekends with Baruch, this time, to celebrate the kibbutz holiday, she decided to remain in Be'eri. From her WhatsApp messages, it is known that she struggled for hours to keep the door of her bomb shelter locked. It is known that the terrorists shot her in the hand. Afterwards, her cellphone battery went dead. When the rescue squad reached her house many hours later, Rotem was not to be found. For many long days, she was thought to have been kidnapped, until her lifeless body was finally located. Rotem Calderon was a woman who could light up the darkness with her smile. She was the woman you would want to introduce to the entire world. A woman whose wise eye and listening ear held the power to strengthen and heal. Responsible and practical, free and brave. A woman the entire world so desperately needs. May her memory be blessed Back 14.10.1956 - 07.10.2023 67 years old

Eitan Hadad Life Story Nobody is laughing now, because there's no one left to make us laugh; if Eitan were here, we would already be laughing, even in the situation we are in. Eitan would have been making us laugh because that's one of those things Eitan knew how to do best; to crack us up. Eitan was like a promise that always came true, bringing a better time and more fun with him. That's what made him who he was; a man of people, a man who loved people and wanted people around him, and, in return, people loved him and wanted him around them. Eitan had this energy that reeled us all in to a more complete and more vibrant place: to take us on trips to the wadis and streams of the kibbutz after the rain, to dive in the sea, to the pool and doubles tennis every Friday, to play soccer with the guys, to a good restaurant, to deep, meaningful conversations, to roll a cigarette and drink a quick coffee; to a concert of an African performer that only he knew, to play the guitar for you in the middle of the day and sing, to meet you on the kibbutz pathways with a smile asking, "How's it going, buddy?" and say behind your back, "What a guy," to tell you dozens of funny stories that happened to him, and to have you both roll on the floor with laughter. He had the ability to suck us into the whirlwind of life, because that's exactly who Eitan was: a lot of life in one person. Eitan talked to us. He instilled in us faith and belief in the power of words, conversation, togetherness, and opened the gates of our hearts. And something in his quiet, gentle voice let us know that we were heard and we were loved, and that we had someone to confide in: Eitan. Eitan, who would drive or fly many kilometers just to see us, to sit with us, to travel with us, just to keep in touch. "The family's foreign minister" was his family nickname, and he was at every event of every relative without exception, no matter how distant the relation. Eitan made us move. Eitan who produced rhythms with his mouth before he even learned to speak, who drummed on every object and thing in his childhood, where music was his first and eternal companion. Eitan the skilled bassist, Eitan with stacks of records, with a fascination for Brazilian, African, Greek, music from all over the world, and for anything that moved. Eitan, who said that the happiest week of his life was the week he and his band performed the show they created for the children from thirty different kindergartens. Eitan, whose music of life will still be heard, because we must keep moving, because Eitan was, long before words, simply energy in motion. Eitan was born on Kibbutz Be’eri on April 4, 1980, the firstborn son of the late Na'ama and Meir Hadad, and brother to Assaf and Dafna. On the kibbutz, he was part of "Kitat Ella", and then he studied at Ma'ale HaBesor school. In November 1998, he enlisted in the combat intelligence unit serving in the Golan Heights and southern Lebanon. After the army, he worked in food services at Be’eri, traveled for a year in Australia and South America, and lived in Tel Aviv for several years after he returned to Israel. He earned a bachelor's degree in international relations from Ben-Gurion University, and recently completed his master’s degree. In recent years, Eitan worked at the Be’eri printing press in sales. He was dedicated and committed to doing everything for the success of the kibbutz he loved so much. In the past year, he met Ga'el, and he was happy to find love, his great love, complete love, after years of being single. On October 7th, Eitan took with him all of his immense energy, leaving the house with only a bullet-proof vest for protection just ten minutes after the first missile hit. He arrived at the kibbutz clinic and fought for hours against the terrorists who had infiltrated Be’eri. The familiar phrase "like a lion" is used often, but in Eitan's case, it was like a lion with extra strength and determination. Eitan fought against the terrorists as life fights against death and the sons of death: with full anger against their obstruction of the light, beauty, laughter, and melody. And from the power of this struggle and endurance, Eitan killed dozens of terrorists and saved dozens of kibbutz members who would undoubtedly have also been killed or abducted. Eitan became a hero like he never planned to be, like he never knew he was. Maybe only his father Meir had a deep inner sense and intuition, when he gave his firstborn son the name Eitan, inspired by Rafael Eitan, and hoped his would also be a hero. In 43 years, Eitan managed to shine light onto the lives of hundreds and save the lives of dozens, but it wasn't enough, and there’s no way it will ever be enough for us or for him. "Hadad Time" – the special and mysterious unit of time that belonged only to him – has come to an end. But Hadad remains in each of our hearts and souls forever. His death, like the death of beloved and amazing people, is entirely unbearable and incomprehensible. When such a person is taken from our lives we are, perhaps, left with only one comfort: that lives lived with such intensity do not end with one’s death. They continue to glow in the hearts and memories of all who were touched by them. Eitan's energy, humor, and laughter will remain with us. Eitan lives within us, and what he brought into the world, from the moment he came, will not disappear from the world with his departure from it. May his memory be blessed. Back 04.04.1980 - 07.10.2023 43 years old

Mila Cohen Life Story Three members of three generations of the Cohen family—grandmother, son, and granddaughter, Yona, Ohad, and Mila—each had different birthdays, but they all died on the same day, October 7, 2023. Mila was born on December 29, 2022, bringing light and love into her home. Over nine months, everyone enjoyed the family harmony that Mila created around her. A feeling of family wholeness, until that cursed Shabbat. On Shabbat morning, Ohad, Sandra, and their three children entered their secure room. Ohad fought to defend his family when Hamas terrorists tried to break through the door. His calls for help were not answered. Sandra was severely wounded. Sons Liam and Dylan survived, but Mila and Ohad were murdered. May her memory be blessed. Prayer - Avraham Chalfi I don’t know the words from which prayer is born. All words are lost to my voice, have become a mute darkness. But my eyes still see the spark in the eyes of a child, and my eyes still see: A star of unmatched brilliance, and worried-faced mothers steering their small ones to the light. What will be with them? What will be? Listen to their breathing joy in the spring, which seems as if it will never end. I will bow before the role of God even if he has vanished from my eyes. Do no wrong to the innocent, they do not know why lightning strikes a fruit-bearing tree. Do no wrong to the innocent. Back 29.12.2022 - 07.10.2023 9 month old

Itzik Kozin Life Story Itzik was born in Israel, shortly after its statehood. Like many Holocaust survivors, his parents, Genia and Moshe, never spoke about the life they lived before they came to Israel. Itzik’s brother-in-law shared what little information he had: Moshe, Itzik’s father, was a soldier in the Polish army, and spent most of the war fighting in the Russian army. He returned to Krementz, his hometown, after the war and discovered that his wife and son had perished, together with his own eight siblings. Only one sister remained – she had come to Palestine in 1936. Genia was born in Poland and during the war was in a labor camp with her three sisters. No one remembers the name of the camp. They met in the Poking Pine City displaced persons camp in Germany, where their first child, Pnina, was born. The young family arrived in Israel in 1948 and was sent to a ma'abara (temporary dwelling for olim ) near Hadera. Moshe was drafted to the IDF and fought in the battles of Latrun. A year or so after arriving in the ma'abara, Moshe, Genia, and Pnina moved in with relatives who lived in a house known as Beit Hashomer, amidst the orange groves near Kibbutz Na'an. It was there that Itzik was born. When he grew up, Itzik began his schooling in Na'an, where he discovered basketball. When he was eight years old, his mother died of cancer, and life took a turn. His father remarried eventually, and built his home in Ganei Hadar, near Beit Hashomer. Itzik was very close to his father and sister and kept up his ties with them over the years. His fond memories of Na'an led him back to kibbutz life. Itzik was sixteen when he joined the Aluma hakhshara and arrived in Be'eri in October 1966. The hakhshara did not arrive as a group, but as individuals whom Ze'ev Wexler, an educator, gathered from groups of the Noar Haoved V'halomed youth movement, and Ahuvale, who cared for the youngsters, was a mother figure for them. The young people came and went, and finally about 30-40 remained. They had morning classes four days a week, and the rest of the time was devoted to kibbutz work. Itzik began working with the field crops, and happily for him, driving a tractor did not require a license. The young people of the hakhsarah were a close group, and did not mingle with the kibbutz members. They lived in cabins by the clinic, worked in the kibbutz, and developed their own local color and experiences. Some 18 months after arriving in Be'eri, the group enlisted – all together – to Nahal. Itzik was selected to go to train as a squad commander and joined the paratroopers’ 50th battalion. Upon discharge from the military, only 10 Aluma members returned to Be'eri, among them Itzik and his good friend Haim Zohar. When Haim got married, Itzik became a significant part of the Zohar family, a full partner to family meals, celebrations, children, and grandchildren. He had the same relationship with many of his friends’ children. For years he was part of Shiri Lingwood’s household, and her son Tal says that Itzik was like a second father, a true close friend. Ella, Itzik’s only daughter, was born in 2009. She did not grow up in his home, but he loved her and was very proud of her. Itzik was a farmer, working with the field crops, until he was about 40 years old, when he decided it was time for a change. He moved to the printing house, where he began working on one machine, gradually gaining mastery of another until he reached retirement age. Retirement offered new paths: He worked at the bike shop in Be'eri, was Erez’s driver on day trips, and worked with Avivit in the nursery. Itzik was known as a sports lover, especially basketball and athletics. At the same time, he was interested in nature and history. He was a generous man, who always brought something to his hosts. He had many friends and a regular breakfast “parliament” in the communal dining room. He was a real character, who loved to complain about the situation. He had a phenomenal memory for local nostalgia, and he could be trusted to be privy to the most recent gossip. He had a talent to recall charming anecdotes about kibbutz members, past and present. Among friends he would take the liberty to mimic local figures and make a definitive comment on each one. There were also the occasional political arguments. Itzik would tease Udi Peled about his opinions – with which he actually identified. The two of them would smoke together, have a drink, their laughter ending with a strong cough. Despite his barbed words, there was not a mean bone in him, and his stories were full of humor and love of the people of his home – Be'eri. Itzik was murdered on Saturday, 7 October 2023. He was 72 years old. May his memory be a blessing. Back 07.03.1951 - 07.10.2023 72 years old

Ayelet Godard Life Story Ayelet was a valued educator and fighter for justice, who shaped generations of people and never stopped working for the nation and the country she so loved. Ayelet was born in June, 1960, in Kfar Galim, the daughter of Rachel and Yosskeh Pereg. Yosskeh was one of the founders of Nakhbir (Be’eri’s original name). He died when Ayelet was three, and she and her sisters, Ruthie and Tami, moved with their mother to Kiryat Bialik, where they became a household of strong, determined women of action. Ayelet was an active teenager and a counselor in the local Scouts group. That was where her skills as an educator first blossomed. Her love of people, nature and hiking led her to join the army as a tour guide at Har Ha’Negev Field School. During her service, Ayelet lived in Yamit, in the final years before it was evacuated. Along with her friends, she led tours of both young and old, new recruits and General Staff officers, taking them all over the region, from Sheikh Zuweid and Bardawil Lake in the northern Sinai Desert, to Ali Muntar Hill and the “potters district” in Gaza. She was attentive to the smells, tastes, traditions and stories. She acquired a huge amount of local knowledge, and was able to add context full of humanity to the country’s spectacular mosaic. Her military service led her not only to encounter extraordinary places, but also to meet the love of her life. On one of her trips to the beach, she met Meni, Yamit’s good-looking, charismatic life guard, “the king of the beach.” They quickly became an item, “Meni-and-Ayelet,” and were married on the beach where they’d met. It was the last wedding in Yamit. The young couple wanted to live on the kibbutz, but Ayelet’s mother pressured her to acquire a vocation first. And so they moved to Tel Aviv. Meni worked as a lifeguard on Hilton Beach, and Ayelet studied special education and history at the Kibbutzim College. In 1983, their daughter Mor was born. Her name (Hebrew for ‘myrrh’) alludes to the Spice Route that Ayelet loved. After they moved back to the kibbutz, their children Gal and Bar were born. While raising her family, Ayelet was also a legendary teacher at the school, where each graduating class has a name: Savyon, Ellah and Petel were the groups she taught. She was an exceptional teacher with traditional methods, who brought nature into the classroom and took the children outside frequently. In 1997, she was appointed principal of Nofim, the elementary school. Ayelet integrated the informal education network into the school, including a petting zoo. Everything she touched thrived. Upon moving to the regional school at Ma’aleh Ha’Bsor, she stepped into the role of supervising the “Shin-shin” program members (who commit to a year of community service before they enlist in the army) in the United Kibbutz Movement. In that capacity, she guided hundreds of young people through their year of service. Over the years, Ayelet always managed to combine her great loves: family, friends, nature and good books. She went hiking whenever she could; more than her favorite pastime, it was a way of life. When the kids were grown, she set off on her big trip: she and her friend Edna travelled to India and Nepal, where she encountered the magnificent Himalaya mountains and the orphanages that operate in the region. She then informed her family that it was time for her own year of service. In 2005, Meni and Ayelet adopted their fourth child, Goni, a sensitive and captivating boy. Ayelet was an exemplary mother and a beloved grandmother. She always came up with something personal and special for each child, whether an art project, an invitation to an activity, or dough for cookie-making. Her personal attention and ability to treat every person as an equal made Ayelet a professor of human relations. She displayed the same generosity and simplicity whether hosting kindergarten children or members of the “Valley Parliament” singing troupe. Together with Meni, she kept a home that was always open, buzzing with guests, children, grandchildren, adopted children, students, family and friends—a great number of friends. Ayelet believed with all her heart in the kibbutz and its residents, and took an active part in the kibbutz life. She left her mark everywhere: on the children now grown; in the petting zoo; on the bike paths she helped plan; in the “shin-shin” communal housing she brought to Be’eri; in the cultural events she organized; in her faith that one can make a change and have an impact. She was driven by an inner fire, endless dedication, and a sense of purpose that knew no bounds. On Saturday morning, October 7, 2023, she and Meni were murdered side by side, in the home they loved, on the kibbutz that was their home. May her memory be a blessing. Back 28.06.1960 - 07.10.2023 63 years old

Tal Bira Life Story Tal was born on December 27, 1961 in Moshav Avigdor near Kiryat Malachi, the second child of Avigdor and Rivka. His father worked as a farmer in the moshav, and his mother nurtured the family, creating a space of warmth, a bosom of joy and calm for the children - Batia, Tal and Amit. The fields, the spaces and the sense of family cohesion gave Tal his roots. When Tal was five years old, the parents decided to make their home in Be’eri, where Rivka had spent her early years as a ‘yaldat-hutz’ (a child raised on the kibbutz though her parents did not live there). His younger brother Oron was born there. The transition to the kibbutz was not easy. The sensitive child suddenly found himself in the noisy company of other children. He had difficulty adjusting to the shared accommodation, and stood on the sidelines in his age group, which was named ‘Dagan’. Little by little, he managed to carve out a place for himself where he could express his talents. With his golden hands, which he inherited from his father, he fixed and operated various things. Thanks to his natural playfulness, he stood out as an actor in plays. Tal looked forward to family gatherings on Saturdays, the feeling of togetherness that brought moments of happiness and gave him a renewed sense of the anchor that had become weaker. He especially loved the family's Shabbat treks, going out to the areas around the kibbutz with a pique blanket and food in backpacks. He dedicated himself to taking care of the family's wolfhounds. After his military service in the Artillery Corps, Tal left the kibbutz for a year, and worked at a fledgling kibbutz, Retamim. He was welcomed with open arms as a kibbutznik with experience in a variety of jobs and with the same golden hands that were mentioned earlier. It was a happy and meaningful time, but when it ended, Tal preferred to return to Be’eri. For him, the kibbutz was the place that the poet Zelda described so well: "The house is a partner / in the revelry of the sky / the sun throws inside / its burning gold/, and the night/ overwhelms it with starry darkness." Tal was a kibbutznik who saw work as a sacred value. He worked in various branches of the kibbutz, including gardening and the garage. Thus, he had the opportunity to get to know the kibbutz from different angles. He had sharp criticism, along with a great love that he was able to express in the films he created. In addition to his work, Tal had many hobbies. He was a true autodidact. Thus, his hobbies went beyond the limits of the concept of a hobby and became professional. He participated in film studies at Sha’ar HaNegev, and became the unofficial photographer of the family and the kibbutz. He was there, behind the camera, at cultural events, bar mitzvah videos, family gatherings, and he added his special touch. He jealously guarded the collection of films he made about the kibbutz and was going to leave them to his nieces and nephews. Tal also found an interest in clocks - ancient and rare clocks that were made by a craftsman’s hands, with complicated mechanisms, which required his expertise to operate them. He studied the mechanics of each watch, studied its history, and knew where to find the tiny parts required to repair it. He participated in conferences that dealt with the field, and on his last trip abroad he was the guest of several Swiss watchmakers. He returned from that trip motivated and happy, with plans to expand his collection. Another of Tal’s passions was cooking. For him, cooking became a work of art, done after considering the ingredients of the dish and also the cultural background in which it was created. No wonder he specialized in cakes and desserts, a field that requires the knowledge and precision of a scientist, along with a rich imagination. Tal created his own culinary language. At every family gathering he knew how to surprise with a new dish or pastry. The love for cooking introduced Tal to Persian cuisine and opened a new world to him - the world of Persian culture. As usual, he began to study the subject comprehensively, and researched the origins of the culture and its customs. He read books written by Iranian authors and watched films by Iranian directors. He liked to set a table with a variety of Persian delicacies and became a member of Facebook communities of Iranian expatriates. The connection he felt was strong, so much so that he requested in his will that his funeral ceremony be conducted by a rabbi of Persian origin. Tal surrounded himself with an extended family and was its warm heart, a heart always open for each of its members. He had a special bond with his brothers and sister, and also with his nephews and nieces. They were a source of pride for him, and he knew how to be a supportive place of love for them. With extraordinary sensitivity, he knew how to set aside time and attention for everyone. He knew how to express his love through special gifts he created and in pampering and surprising breakfast meals on Shabbat, those little things that create a warm and cohesive human experience. Tal was a proud human being, with an abundant soul. Two weeks before his death, on the eve of Yom Kippur, Tal wrote on Facebook: “May we know how to hurt less throughout the year, to be more sensitive and more attentive and respectful of others. Even if it doesn't always match our way.” Tal was murdered on October 7, 2023, in the terrorist attack against Be’eri and the towns and villages around the Gaza Strip. His brother Oron and his family were also murdered that Saturday. May his memory and the memory of the entire family be blessed. Back 27.12.1961 - 07.10.2023 62 years old

Itai Svirsky Life Story Itai was murdered on January 13. His body was recovered and brought back to Israel. On Friday, December 6, we are bringing him home to be buried in the soil of Kibbutz Be’eri, in the place reserved for him — between his parents and next to his grandfather, Bamik. Itai was born on Kibbutz Be’eri on February 17, 1985, the third child of Rafi, a member of the Garin "Abir", and Orit, daughter of Aviva and Bemik Sela, founders of the kibbutz. Orit and Rafi raised his older siblings, Merav and Yonatan, in Givatayim until the kibbutz decided to abolish communal sleeping arrangements. They returned to Be’eri a few months before Itai was born. Later, the youngest son, Yuval, joined the family. The young Savirsky family was passionately committed to the kibbutz, much like the founding generation, yet with a critical eye and a creative, open-minded approach to change. They held key responsibilities: Orit in print management and the social sphere, and Rafi in economy. Itai’s human devotion and his constant desire to be there for others was a trait he gleaned from home. Itai was a curious and sensitive child with golden curls and a timid half-smile. Even in his childhood photos, one could see his kind eyes and observant, empathetic gaze. Alongside his sensitivity, his athletic talents stood out from a young age, beginning with the Be’eri mini-basketball team, continuing through Dov’s tennis lessons, and on to soccer—a great talent that wasn’t fully realized, perhaps due to his equal knack for getting injured during play. His friends in the "Tapuach" class recall him being a level above everyone else, always teaching us a thing or two on the field. Beyond his talent and enjoyment of sports, Itai was a devoted fan of Maccabi Tel Aviv, spending much time with friends and family watching soccer games. In his teenage years, Itai’s love for music blossomed. He studied voice training, enjoyed playing guitar and piano, and especially loved the works of Eviatar Banai and Amir Lev. Merav describes their family as a "house of boys," with sibling spats that was actually a way the brothers expressed their care for one another. Itai’s second home was with his grandparents, Aviva and Bemik—a place where he could simply be himself, free of questions and demands. He spent nearly every afternoon there, enjoying his grandmother’s plates of fruit and cakes until his parents returned from work. Saturdays added his grandfather’s fries and salad, and many cousins playing on the lawn outside. Another significant home was Aviva’s apartment near Habima Auditorium in Tel Aviv, a family destination for weekend visits and annual vacations filled with the excitement of the big city. Meals at Aharoni’s Chinese restaurant, Itai’s favorite, were never missed. From a young age, Itai grappled with philosophical questions about life and human nature. In high school, he studied Jewish thought, relishing the discussions and the opportunity to explore fundamental questions with depth and an open mind. He continued to engage in philosophical debates everywhere, with a genuine curiosity and a willingness to truly listen and learn. After a delayed enlistment due to a sports injury, Itai served in the Air Control Unit. Upon completing his service, he traveled to India and upon his return, alternated between Be’eri and Tel Aviv before settling in the city. In 2010, he began studying for a bachelor’s degree in psychology and philosophy at Tel Aviv University. His quest for the "perfect path" did not skip his studies—he switched from philosophy to economics, then to general studies, later completing a master’s degree in business administration. In recent years, Itai discovered the Satya method through his mother and Aunt Osnat. Starting as a participant, he completed the coaching course in 2023 and began taking steps as a coach. Friends and family who trained with him during his studies spoke of his remarkable ability to deeply connect with people, listen attentively, and reflect what he heard. For the first time, it seemed he had found his professional calling. Curiosity also led him to Brazilian jiu-jitsu, which became integral to his life over the past two and a half years. Initially hesitant about its intensity and physical aggressivity, he overcame his fears, and his athletic talent shined through. Training four times a week, he also incorporated Muay Thai and Mixed Martial Arts, creating deep bonds with his teammates and becoming a beloved member of his club. Above all, Itai cherished time with his family, always available to help with care and concern. He shared warm relationships with his aunts, uncles, and cousins, and became the perfect uncle to Merav and Dan’s sons, Keynan and Elam. He lovingly cared for his father, Rafi, during his recovery from a heart attack, and frequently shared cherished “Tel Aviv time” with him and his brother Yonatan. His unique bond with his grandmother Aviva brought him to the kibbutz almost every weekend, showing his devotion and spending quality time. On Friday, October 6, Itai was in Be’eri with his family, as he often was on weekends. The brutal attack on the kibbutz caught him at Orit’s home. They took shelter in the fortified room amidst gunfire and shouting, and maintained a connection with the family through their family WhatsApp. Gradually, communication with family members was severed: first with Rafi, then with Itai, and lastly with Orit. She sent a heart emoji. And then another. Orit and Rafi were murdered in Be’eri on October 7. Itai’s fate remained uncertain until the family received indications he had been abducted to Gaza. Fifty days later, survivors who were held captive with him reported he had seen his mother killed and asked them to convey a plea to Merav: to do everything possible to save him. Despite tireless efforts, on the 97th day of captivity, the building where Itai, Noa Argamani, and Yossi Sharabi were held collapsed due to an airstrike. Itai survived the collapse but was murdered two days later by his captors. Even under inhumane conditions, Itai remained true to himself: resourceful, resilient, and emotionally present for others—a confidant, a listener, a source of support. Itai’s tragic death stands in stark contrast to his life and character: a man of connection, humanity, and compassion; sensitive, kind, and always seeking peace and goodness. When asked during his Satya training what kind of coach he aspired to be, he said: “Calm, humble, compassionate, and with a sense of humor.” That is who he wanted to be. That is who he was. And that is how we will always remember him. May his memory be a blessing. Back 17.02.1985 - 13.01.2024 38 years old